


Shanghai Film Festival

by 447AM



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Emo Yifan, Idk how to tag things, M/M, not really angst but kinda sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 12:04:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7170299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/447AM/pseuds/447AM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's an event like every other one, if not for his eyes constantly searching the crowd, looking for the person he doesn’t wanna look at, trying to find Zitao just so he can know where not to go. It’s stupid, it’s ridiculous, it’s immature. He dries is sweaty palms with a tissue. It’s Zitao.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shanghai Film Festival

Yifan doesn’t know how they managed to avoid each other all this time, but they did. But every game of hide and seek has to end at some point, he guesses.  
His hotel room is a mess, clothes laying everywhere, shoes on the bed, blazers on the floor. He feels more nervous than usual picking out an outfit, changes his mind many many times. A teenager right before a big party, knowing their Ex will be there with their new, cooler friends, looking stunning as usual, and all the anxious 17 year old wants is to look presentable and over it. It’s not that far from reality.  
He picks out the rings, the watch, the small golden hoop earrings. A final look at the two sets of clothing he decided on. It’ll do, it looks good. He’s 25, he’s a grown man. He’s over it.  
Yifan puts the rest back into the suitcase, way too big for a simple weekend. He always overpacks, and Zitao always made fun of him, years ago. They helped each other pack for schedules. Zitao used to take some of his jewelry when he thought Yifan didn’t look, and sneak into the room late at night. Yifan pretended to be asleep, listened to Zitao opening drawers, carefully placing the earrings or the ring or the bracelet back where they belonged. When the pictures of them at the airport or events came out, Yifan pointed out the odd similarity between Zitaos accessories and his own, and Zitao would laugh shyly and confess. Sometimes, Yifan bought a pair of earrings and give one to Zitao and keep one to himself. A grown up version of friendship bracelets, yet incredibly childish as neither of them ever acknowledged it as what it was. A proof of a bond, a sign of affection, two parts of a whole. They always have been great at avoiding.  
Tomorrow night, he’ll wear a pair of earrings he bought as a pair and kept as one. But Yifan is sure Zitao would’ve liked them. 

He doesn’t see Zitao on his way to the event, doesn’t see him right before he walks the red carpet. Once he stands there, flashing cameras in front of him, he bans every thought about Tao out of his head. He’s not here for him. He happily answers questions, laughs about the light jokes, poses, smiles.  
People compliment him, for his outfit, his acting, his face, his modeling. Yifan politely thanks them. He shakes hands and exchanges business cards. An event like every other one, if not for his eyes constantly searching the crowd, looking for the person he doesn’t wanna look at, trying to find Zitao just so he can know where not to go. It’s stupid, it’s ridiculous, it’s immature. He dries is sweaty palms with a tissue. It’s Zitao. 

Most people have understood by now that there is no use to ask Yifan about him. He’ll tense up, force a laughter, and change topics just to end the conversation moments later.  
The mention of Zitao alone is enough to throw Yifan out of the loop. He never knows how to reply, how to handle the situation. It’s like being in school again, in front of the class, teacher asking questions he should know the answer to. But he doesn’t and feels the mocking eyes of classmates and judging ones of his teacher on him.  
He’s not in school anymore. This uneasiness shouldn’t be a part of his life. Maybe Zitao should be though. He isn’t, anymore. 

He meets a man, not a friend but not a stranger, who’s name he doesn’t remember. He keeps that to himself though as the other approaches him with a big smile and open arms. They hug and Yifan sees Zitao over the mans shoulders. A glass in his hand, other in the pocket of his pants, with the rest of his co-actors. He looks beautiful, as always. Yifan didn’t know he dyed his hair back to black.  
He can feel the corners of his mouth rise, his heartbeat fasten, something in him is shaking. It’s excitement, not anxiety. He didn’t see him in years.  
Zitao doesn’t look at him, probably hasn’t even noticed him yet. He’s just standing there, listening to someone out of Yifans view, but it’s enough to give him all the courage he needs. He missed him.  
The hug loosens and Zitao disappears behind the head of the man.  
'Do you want to get a drink together? I wanna know everything about your new project.‘  
He wants to say no, but the words won’t come out.  
Yifan tilts his head a little, to see past the man, to find Zitao again, his smile, his eyes, and his own courage.  
He’s gone, melted back into the crowd.  
Yifan says yes, of course, and walks away with the man. He doesn’t see Zitao again, and he doesn’t look for him either. 

The night is over and Yifan sits on the edge of his bed, blazer thrown onto the armchair in the corner.  
He covers his face with his hands, going through his hair, rubbing his neck.  
He could’ve done it. Could have gone to him, tap his shoulders. Zitao would turn around, and once their eyes meet his mouth would drop open a bit. HIs expression would turn serious a second after. Yifan would ask him if he wants to talk. Maybe he would agree. Maybe not. But their games, the running away, would be over.  
He didn’t do it.  
Yifan takes off his clothes, packs his suitcase. His flight is early in the morning. He won’t get much sleep.  
He checks the first reports about the festival before putting away his phone.  
In one of the close ups, he can see Zitaos earrings.  
Small golden hoops.

**Author's Note:**

> listen... i cry. 
> 
> yell at me about taoris on my tumblr!!


End file.
